


Insomnia

by cherryjam (blueskull)



Series: Wondrous Tails 2020 [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hyur Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Mentions of Nightmares, Mild Angst, Selectively Mute Main Character, though not explicitly described, wondrous tails 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24366808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueskull/pseuds/cherryjam
Summary: The Warrior of Light has trouble sleeping.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Series: Wondrous Tails 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759252
Kudos: 12





	Insomnia

She struggles from the arms and ties that bind her, the ones that beg her return to that hellscape of ravished buildings and flames and grotesque, too-pale skin, bones bursting from flesh. An amalgamation of horrors, the memory already fading by the time she realises she’s not constricted by claws and chains, but by her blanket.

She doesn’t scream – her jaw is clenched so tight as to be painful, her teeth grinding together. She’s long taught herself to be _silent_ , and it’s in silence that she struggles into a sitting position, bringing her blanket around herself to cover her nightgown. Green eyes slowly begin to focus on the room around her, the familiar shapes of the furniture in her Pendants room illuminated by moonlight.

Even the Ascian sitting cross-legged at her desk, one arm leaning against it to cup his own cheek as he flips through a book balanced upon his knee. Even that is familiar. She has no idea _what_ he’s reading, but she’s inclined to think it’s one of her writings…

Arianna supposes it’s too late to be annoyed. She’s already allowed him to read occasional passages…and the implicit permission is clearly more than enough for him to go snooping through the rest of the books.

With a world-weary sigh, she draws her knees up to her chest as she leans her back against the wall. If Emet-Selch has noticed her writhing struggle to awaken, he doesn’t make a single comment, not even when he glances at her for a moment with champagne-coloured eyes.

“Ever thought of publishing these?” he asks suddenly, nodding his chin to the book in his lap.

Raising an eyebrow at the question – the mere thought making her uncomfortable – she nevertheless shakes her head.

“You should,” he responds smoothly, shutting the the book with a quiet _thunk_ and placing it upon the desk. “And put them in _order_. It’d make reading this much easier than having to flip through it and look for the bits and pieces…not to mention more _enjoyable_.”

Now _this_ comment catches her attention, and the woman blinks at him curiously. Perhaps a little more lucid and awake now – she cautiously reaches across the aetheric bond shared between them, the one she had asked for.

_“You like them?”_

His shoulders raise and lower in a shrug. “I can’t actually say, my dear.” He leans back into the chair. “They certainly have elements of _interest_ …but when they’re so scattered around like this, and not even chronological I might add, it’s rather difficult to get a proper grip on them.”

A sincere question met by a sincere answer. Or so it seems.

At least he does not think them _bad_.

She recalls the passage he had written her once, and wonders what had possessed him to write such a thing. But she doesn’t ask.

_“Thank you.”_ A belated response. She should get back to sleep. She’ll have to wake up, soon enough…too soon for her tastes. But a necessity nonetheless. She _should_. But.

It’s not that his presence makes her unable to sleep. In fact, she has slept in his presence before. It’s remarkably easy. But now that he’s spoken to her…

It makes her want to talk. Or listen. She cares not which. Perhaps listen this time. For a moment, she glances across the room toward her pots and drawers of herbs, before thinking better of it. Getting up now seems like too much effort.

_“Tell me a story?”_ Her gaze catches his, and holds.

“Ah…” He smirks, as if he’d been waiting for this question. Slowly, he stands up from the desk, and approaches. She doesn’t move away as he sits upon the edge of the bed, legs crossing again as he leans back toward her, almost reclining.

This is not exactly new for her, either.

Though this time, he surprises her, snapping his fingers; in each of his hands, a single mug of steaming liquid appears. He hands her one, and she recognises the scent immediately. Valerian. She cups her palms around it and realises for the first time how cold they are.

“What would you like to hear about today?”


End file.
